A Study Through Time
by ShemisCapMurica
Summary: A blend of the worlds of Sherlock Holmes and the Avengers, Stark and Rogers mistakenly time travel landing in London in 1912. They visit Sherlock and Watson at 221B Baker Street and discovers some of their deepest secrets. Read more to find out what's left out of Watsons tales.


Growing up, Sherlock and Watson were my heroes. They fought with wit and deduction, which gave me hope as a frail boy feeling powerless in poverty. Their adventures filled a hunger in me to fight the bullies, to fight injustice. Before bed, I would sit by the fire, in our little home on the Lower East side of Manhattan with my head resting against my mothers' knee. She'd pull out old clippings from strand magazine and I'd listen as her smooth voice glossed over the words. Though food was sparse, her company was nourishment enough in those days before she fell ill. Her death deepened a need in me to live a life fighting for what is right. As world war two crept into our lives, our newspapers and our hearts I knew it was the chance I'd been waiting for. Sometimes I find myself lost in these memories of home and the time I was born in, far from my current reality, especially when wandering around my old neighborhood.

I had seen little of Iron Man lately. He'd been working on another of his projects. He said not to disturb him, but he'd missed a few Avengers meetings in the prior two weeks. Even yesterday there was an attack downtown by the capital building. It was a mess so Fury called us in last minute to get a handle on things. I was sure it was exciting and alluring enough that Iron Man would make an appearance. He always loves swooping in at the last minute and finishing the job even when clearly we have a handle on things. In his absence I decided it was time to pay him a visit. Despite our disagreements he's one of us and looking out for one another is part of the job.

I knocked on the door of the Stark Tower, located in Midtown Manhattan, a quick walk from my old neighborhood. Jarvis, his automated butler answered and greeted me with his usual pleasantries. Without asking, he pointed me in the direction of Starks workshop saying "he's in a fowl mood sir, please encourage him to eat his lunch." I lightly tapped on the door to his workshop noticing the loud heavy metal music pouring out of the crack under the door. Letting myself in after a brief pause I noticed Jarvis must have turned the music on as I entered. The walls of the room were covered in tools, and screens displaying various blueprints and webpages of information. It's more of a toy room than a workshop. Two robotic arms were stretching around a central table with a glowing blue box demanding my attention in its glow and unnatural color. The arms adjusted their orientation and pulling off components and delivering them to another table.

Amidst the sounds of hardworking robots I heard "did Jarvis let you in? Of course, it's just like you to ignore my request to be left alone to work. But since you're here, would you hand me that wrench to the left of the metal box… no, over there, by the… "

"Its nice to see you too Stark."

I handed him the tool and waited for him to make eye contact and ask why I was there. And sure enough, he said, "so is this a social visit or did Fury send you?"

"I was in the neighborhood."

He finally looked up at me surveying my face, "another trip down memory lane?"

Giving him no reaction I kept myself still and said "something like that. What are you working on?"

"I received a package the other day with no message, inside was the Tesseract this blue cube you keep staring at. Isn't it mesmerizing? It produces 820 trillion megawatts of power every minute. It has similar chemical components to this guy," he said tapping on the arc reactor built into his chest. "I've been trying to source the energy. It has particles and chemical components found only in other universes. If harnessed correctly this could provide clean power for the entire United States, maybe the world. I can't seem to remove this small conductor piece that completes the circuit of energy. If I remove it, I can shut it off, take the whole cube apart and understand it. Actually, make yourself useful, hold this lead screw in place, while I try and pick up the conductor. But, be careful," he warned, "last time I slipped it friend my entire system. I spent over 26 hours just rebooting Jarvis. Slowly pull it out when I give you the word."

I focused on the screw and awaited instruction.

After Stark got a grip on the conductor, he said "now."

As I gently began pulling the screw rubbed against the sides of the hole causing blue light to pierce through the air, forcing me to lose focus. Stark began yelling to keep going; by diverting his attention he dropped the conductor. What happened next I can't totally explain. It was, as my commanding officer would have said, without protocol. Blue light filled the room and I could no longer see Stark or even myself. My body felt weightless and nauseous. I was yelling at Stark the whole time, but I heard only pure, eerie silence. I felt more lost than waking up after seventy years of being frozen.

After what could have been years, or mere seconds I felt a sudden wave of shock through my body, as if landing after jumping out off a building with no parachute. I blinked my eyes as I became suddenly aware of my body and my surroundings. I quickly realized we were no longer in Stark Tower. It appeared we were in a shipping warehouse. The ceiling was high and towers of wooden boxes surrounded us.

I said to myself "where are we?"

Per usual, Stark was ready with an answer. "London, a shipping yard, early 1900s, 1912 it seems."

"London?" I responded aghast. Out of a combination of fear and shock grew question after question, though I was too overwhelmed to articulate.

Stark met my questions as if reading my every concern. "Yes, look at the labels on the shipping boxes." Pointing to a box he read "LDN ENG, Christianson Bros. dep: OCT16."

"I don't think we are stuck here, with a few modifications we can fix this and hopefully return home within a few hours. I just need some time to think through the mechanisms that could have allowed us to time travel in the first place. Shall we take a walk in the mean time clear our heads; get a taste of the early 1900s? Well, London rather? Oh stop looking so aghast; this isn't so out of the ordinary. Remember you were the one who was frozen for 70 years, was injected with serum for super strength. I just need some time to think it through." Looking around he continued, "I'm assuming we're on the Thames or an adjacent canal."

"So our plan is to wander around London a hundred years ago until you stumble upon a solution to fix this thing?" I asked gesturing to the cube.

"Yeah. Got any better ideas Cap? I don't foresee you fixing the Tesseract to take us home anytime soon, and I'm in no place to come up with a solution. So yes, lets take a walk. Is there anywhere you want to go?"

My mind immediately leapt back to my walk around Manhattan that morning, remembering moments with my mother. I saw her by the fire leafing through a pile of news clippings. I began to wonder, are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson real? Could they? Would they exist today? Here? now? Could we, visit them? Could they help us?

With an abrupt amount of urgency I said "Sherlock Holmes! We can go visit Sherlock and Watson!" I said it with the kind of excitement you only see in children these days. The kind of fascination my mother saw in my eyes as she read so many Sherlock Holmes adventures aloud to me a lifetime ago.

Stark replied, "They're fictional characters. You don't really think they're real do you?"

Rather sternly I defended, "do you have any reason to believe they are not? I believe in them like I believe in justice."

"Lets pay them a visit then shall well? See if they are real. We could make a wager?"

"Stark, I am not making a wager on whether they are real people. I find bets to be immature and a waste of time. If you're serious about finding them, they live in apartment 221B on Baker Street."

"Wow you really were a fan. Well, seeing as we are already close to the Thames, our fastest means of travel is via the rivers and canals. There should be canal system that reaches Reagents Park, just North of Bakers Street. We can walk from there." Seeing my confusion he added, "I have a mapping system built into these glasses. Lucky for us all the old canal systems are still included in modern maps. As I was saying, our greatest challenge will be not sticking out. So put the shield down, and I'll leave my suit behind. We're going to have to pick up some disguises. First lets find someone we can, well borrow some clothes from."

We walked out into the street trying to keep a low profile but the stares were persistent. Stark popped into the a pub called "The William the Conquerors Arms." Quite the name for a pub I thought. I'll never forget hearing mention of his name as an example of ferocity. Back at training camp, I remember my superior at the time saying "technology doesn't win wars, men do and he was quite a soldier and leader." I remember we were all surprised he used a British warrior as a good example. That was Captain Davises style though, never holding grudges. As I was lost again in my thoughts of the past, Stark had managed to grab two coats and two hats off the hooks just inside the door without anyone noticing. He handed me one of each, his expression blank.

"Absolutely not. I will not partake in stealing these civilians' coats. It's unjust."

"Okay, before you get all righteous on me, do you have any better ideas? If we go without a disguise we will be disrupting the peace and potentially altering future events, not to mention putting ourselves in danger. We will return the coats later on our way back, okay Cap?"

"Fine I'll wear the coat and hat," I said as a reached for one of the coats.

Stark shoved the other one towards me and said "Oh no, I get first pick, I did all the work. You can wear this one," once again offering the other smaller coat.

Rolling my eyes I accepted it, though it barely reached across my chest to button and the hat the fell over my eyes. We were on our way; we wandered down to the wharf. I sat looking at the boats thinking of how similar they were to American ships while Stark did all the talking. He insisted on making the arrangements. He said something about how his excellent British accent would come in handy. I decided to stay out of it. Sure enough, he found us a small cargo boat captain willing to drop us off by Reagents Park, close to where he does a delivery.

A few hours later we found ourselves at the gates of Reagents Park, just a few blocks from Bakers Street. My palms began to sweat, as I got irrationally nervous. Suddenly I felt like my teenage self outside the military recruitment office nervous they would turn me away again, or worse, discover I had lied on the forms. I shook the feeling as we walked through the neighborhood commenting on the sheer filth in the streets, Stark adding statistics and copious amounts of information about New Yorks waste system, so naturally my mind began to wander again. I found myself day dreaming about Peggy, probably just a kid growing up in London now with such a bright future ahead of her. It wouldn't be right to disturb her. She wouldn't have known who I was and it would've only confused her further down the line and upset me. I played with these potentials as we strode along, wondering if Stark was doing the same with his father, who had passed, as he would have been alive at the time too. I wondered if he was thinking about the possibilities of seeing his deceased loved ones, or whether he brushed the thought off as he often does with matters more personal and emotional. I thought of bringing it up, though decided against it. I knew he would recoil and dismiss the question, making me feel worse about asking it in the first place. So I remained quiet as he spewed more information, now about the oil lamp streetlights, and the architecture. He really is incredibly knowledgeable I'll admit. I suppose it's important to acknowledge the strengths and weaknesses of teammates. As I began listing his pros and cons in my head we can upon Baker Street. There was radio silence in my head. We crossed the street and made our way to 221B. It existed.

I could tell from Starks expression he was surprised, though made an off handed comment to disguise it, noting "I suppose Arthur Conan Doyle would make the apartment located in a real place in London to make it more believable for fans."

I smiled, laughing a little as his pure pride, walked up the stairs, and tentatively knocked on the door. We could hear the sound of furniture moving and someone coming down stairs rapidly. As the door opened my eyes met who I could only imagine to be Mrs. Hudson.

I greeted her, "Mrs. Hudson" though quickly recoiled realizing she wouldn't know who I was.

The woman looked us up and down, her facial expression telling of confusion. She said, "do I know you young men?"

Stark jumped in and said "no, but we are looking for" he paused clearly disappointed in his words to follow, "for Sherlock and Watson. Are they home?"

The next few moments before she responded dragged on for what felt like a whole minute. She finally said, "they're out on business but you can wait for them inside, I'll bring you some tea."

Relief and shock flooded my body. Thinking back to how my mother would complain about how Mrs. Hudson was treated, I offered to help make the tea.

Clearly surprised she said "well, uh no that's alright sir, just take a seat, it's really no trouble for me."

We sat down in large well-warn armchairs after I built a fire. Mrs. Hudson graciously brought us tea, and left us to take in our surroundings. I was living a dream, devouring every detail and comparing it to my expectations. I imagine Stark was enjoying himself quite well also. I don't think he had ever seen a workspace as messy, and as alluring as his own. Everything around him was a toy, and he touched everything until he understood it then moved on to the next object, humming with glee all the while. He didn't want to admit he was wrong and I felt no need to bring it up. Why ruin the utter bliss we were both experiencing? Afternoon crept in and greeted us as the 3 o'clock chime rang. Just as my excitement began wearing off, and my fear of being stuck there became impossible to ignore any longer, we heard the front door open and two sets of legs overcome the stairs. Stark and I held eye contact in those moments before the door opened in disbelief and anticipation.

In came two men, first a taller man of a skinner build and straight groomed black hair, followed by a shorter, stouter man. The first had to be Sherlock; he was just as Arthur Conan Doyle had described him, tall with an eager face with long features and a gray travelling cloak and cap. He wasn't as familiar as I had imagined probably because Sidney Paget's drawings in Strand Magazine, my fist experience seeing them weren't exactly accurate. As they entered, their expressions became twisted and confused, especially Holmes. They clearly weren't expecting company. Stark, as he often does broke the silence.

"Hello, I'm Tony Stark and this is Steve Rogers," but before he could continue he was interrupted by Holmes, who's eyes had been frantically taking in our appearances and the room obviously aware that we had touched his things.

"Who are you? I can deduce that you are trying to look like a barge captain of sorts in that jacket, but the hat tells a different story, as the origin of its material is Austria, a landlocked country. You could be well traveled but I am lead to believe it's not your hat at all, as your shoes, pants, haircut and general demeanor do not match either. Your smell tells me you both have spent some time on the London canals or other waterways, but why I cannot deduce. And you, you are even more a mystery. Your sheer size and strength are unparalleled to any human I've ever met. Your haircut tells me American but you can't possibly be naturally that strong. What's your secret? Watson, fetch a notebook and begin a new page for each of them. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers." He said slowly as if hearing every letter. "We could spend hours on their names alone." A broad smile crept over his face to replace his confusion, as it appeared he realized the pleasure he would get out of taking apart every detail of us. I couldn't imagine how mysterious we must have seemed to him.

With no patience to play his game, Stark jumps in "we're from the future about 107 years in the future. I'm practically half robot thanks to this bit of technology" he said tapping on his chest, "and this here," pointing to me, "is a science experiment. He was injected with a serum that gave him super strength."

Watson, still having not said a word yet is scribbling away rapidly on his pad of paper, meanwhile Holmes sat down in his chair, with the same look of intrigue and mischief on his face. He didn't even question the validity of our statements. He must have deduced that Stark was telling the truth.

Not missing a beat, Holmes said "Fascinating. So you must have time traveled here?" Met with a nod from Stark he continued, "and you came here to us because?" As Holmes continued to carry the conversation Watson began reviving the fire, the crackling noises filling the pauses in our conversation. In seeing no response from Stark, Holmes turned to me. I met his gaze for the first time. It was electric, awake and alert. As you you might imagine an owls eyes to appear as it hunts at night.

Words stumbled out of my mouth as I said, "well, we didn't mean to time travel actually, we ended up here by mistake. We had received a mysterious package and were doing experiments on it when we slipped handling a conductor component and it brought us here." I could tell I was rambling and tried to control my nerves and excitement. "As to why we are in your living room, well that's upon my request sir. I uh. I'm a big fan." Looking at Watson I continued, "growing up I read your stories in Strand Magazine. Even today, a hundred years from now there are movies, more books than you can imagine, whole societies even about you both. You're famous really. It's such a pleasure to finally meet you. I have so many questions the little boy inside me wants to ask you. Would you mind answering a few?"

Watson said, "of course" in the same instance that Holmes said, "I don't think so." There was a look of frustration between them and then Holmes gave in.

He corrected, "Yes, we can answer a few questions as long as it doesn't take too long, and as long as we can ask you two a few questions in exchange. And what do you mean we are famous?" He picked up a long pipe off the table and lit it with a match he dug for in his pocket. He inhaled deeply staring at the now roaring fire, his eyes reflecting their flicker.

"He means you two are some of the most famous character in the history of literature and your stories have been converted into every medium you can imagine," Stark said.

"Exactly, "I added. "The first question I would like to ask is related to your drug habits actually." I paused looking from Sherlock's face, to his pipe and back to his face again. "In every adaptation of your adventures that I've seen, there's always a scene or two with you smoking a pipe, thinking deeply. As a soldier, I'm clean as a whistle, though there is some part of me that's curious. Do you think smoking, and using opium on occasion is a bad habit?" This question really got them both chuckling. The sort of uncomfortable laugh that no one wants to have to witness.

Sherlock responds, "Actually, that's a bit of a sore subject you see, one of much dispute between Watson and I. It's a way of manipulating my mind you see, to focus or sharper it to aid in honing in on details and spinning webs of evidence that lead me to the answer. I really do my best work with its assistance. You could say it's my version of the serum your friend mentioned."

"For the record, I do not endorse this habit or behavior. We have solved crimes without the help of drugs and we don't need them to continue to solve crimes," mentions Watson.

I can tell it's upsetting both men, so I change the subject. "Alright then, my next question pertains to your friendship. You two are clearly incredibly different. How do you manage staying friends this long? Don't you ever get in arguments?"

"That's an excellent question Steve, can I call you Steve?" Watson said. "You see maintaining a working relationship is relatively simple, everyone plays a role, assuming they are defined and it's easy to stick to your precedential dynamic that you know works. It's when our personal lives get mixed in that things get complicated. Take, for example, a past case we call the study in Bohemia, featured Irene Adler, the only woman, Sherlock here has ever even shown anything more than respect for beat Sherlock Holmes at his own game, a feat we are proud to admit happens rarely, if ever. Or take Mary, my wife. Sherlock hates her and has made it very clear on multiple occasions, but that is tangential. The point is, we stick to what works. Sherlock takes the lead on cases, and I offer assistance where I can most often in the medical field. We try not to involve our personal lives in cases, and only discuss them between cases."

"Wow it sounds like you have it down to a science." I said.

"You could say that, yes. And you two are you partners in crime? In time travel? What's your story? Watson said.

"We are part of a team of superheroes who fight crime and injustice," Stark said.

"Define 'super' 'hero,'" Holmes asked.

"We have special abilities. I have super strength; he's practically half robot. There are other members of our team with unique abilities as well. We use them for good to make the world a better place. That's what makes us 'heroes.' And we get uniforms, sort of like you too."

"Uniforms?" They say in unison again.

"You have an iconic look, that's recognizable as both a detective look and as a Sherlock. Sherlock, when was the last time you solved a crime without wearing that dark gray coat? And what's with the hat?"

"I really don't care what you think about what I wear. And this coat is practical," said Holmes.

"I have a question," Stark interrupts. "There's always talk about whether you two ever end up together, or have romantic feelings for one another and I'm sensing some sexual tension. Have you guys ever been together, you know on a date, in a committed relationship, had sex?"

I jumped in, "Tony! That's inappropriate and disrespectful to ask. I'm sorry you don't have to answer that question if it makes you uncomfortable. Tony, it's a different time, its not fair to ask a question like that when society rejects homosexuality so intensely."

"I will answer that question actually, just so neither of you make any assumption about us. We have never been in a, a romantic relationship, to use your words. I for one, am happily married, and Sherlock has never showed even the slightest inclination towards men, or women for that matter."

"Sherlock, do you have anything to add, or does Watson here speak for you?" Stark coaxed on.

Sherlock replied, "He was entirely accurate. I do not participate in romantic relationships."

"Particupate. What an interesting choice of word. And why is that?" Stark asked.

Without motion or pause Sherlock adds, "my older brother Mycroft raped me on multiple occasions in my childhood. I didn't understand it to be rape until I was an adult. I never asked for it, and I certainly expressed I didn't want to partake, but he was older and stronger and thus often had the upper hand. I had told one close relative growing up, and he asked me whether I was sure it really happened. I believe and trust myself more than anyone in the world. I am talented private detective because I can discern fact from falsehood and I don't let opinion or feelings serve as evidence or impact my decisions. So to be put in a position where I was forced to question the validity of my experience and not trust myself was utterly alienating."

"That was a diversion, back to your question. I am telling you of this experience as evidence of the way I choose to be. Over the years, through countless conversations with Watson here, I have become confident and sure that I was raped. Science and medicine tell me this experience could impact how I relate to others and current relationships. I have made the conscious choice to avoid romantic relationships, and my brother for that matter. He still checks in periodically and I know he feels guilty for what he did, but I choose to engage as little as possible. If I wanted to I could push past my trauma and engage with others romantically. But, I am not interested. Before meeting Watson I compartmentalized because I didn't want to confront my experiences, I focused entirely on my intelligence and honing my deduction skills. Those years, though tainted with pain, brought me to where I am today. So you see my romantic life is inconsequential. Science and crimes are what drive my life choices. I choose to fill my brain with useful information and with few emotions. It's distracting it's unnerving and I will not let weak thoughts like emotions take up the limited space between our temples. Work is what I live for. I live for the game."

Watson adds, "you've never heard about this in my stories of course. Can you imagine the uproar that would cause? Mycroft, a man of high regard with his position in the British government sexually assaulting his brother, another man! Can you imagine? It would ruin not only our business but Holmes here would never be left alone and would probably never receive a case ever again. Also, I would never put Holmes in that position. As his friend, I would never intentionally put him through the pain of reliving those experiences through the publics eyes."

We sat in silence, in utter silence for a few moments. I was shocked, shaken even. To hear anyone admit to such trauma, to strangers nonetheless is painful. I suppose Sherlock is the blunt type. I couldn't help but think, even here, even with this new information; Sherlock, in my mind, remains a modern man ahead of his time. He talks openly about being a victim of sexual assault, as a man nonetheless, in the early 1900s. That must be unheard of, considering how the conversation has only just begun in present times. He is focused and entirely oriented towards work and friendship with his loyal companion Watson. I can't even imagine being raped by a family member.

Every few years or so I would hear about an instance of this kind between military men. I would have the same cold frightened feeling I do now. A sinking in my chest and anger at the disrespect and cruelty of the actions. I remember giving it some thought one night after hearing about one particular instance with a buddy of mine. I thought about how trust and teamwork are the pillars of an effective platoon. If you take that away, betray that trust you're left with a broken team. My buddy was broken for a while, his team too. Sherlock was left with a broken family. Lost in thought I looked up and around at my surreal reality. I looked at Stark and was suddenly grateful for him. At the end of the day despite his frequent snide remarks and egotism I know he has my back. I just hope we can get back home.

I realize the weight of the silence was getting harder for everyone to slip out from under. I grab at the fleeting opportunity and say "thank you for sharing that with us. Your bravery and strength translate to the utmost respect I have for both of you. You are both leaders and soldiers."

Now uncomfortable Sherlock changes the subject, "Uh yes. And now for our questions. Watson do you have any? What would you like to know about the future?"

Watson replied, "Nothing. Good or bad, ordinary or obscure I don't want to know. I would rather continue living the way I am. I have a best fried, a wife whom I love, and a rewarding exciting job."

"Oh. Well, I for one, want to know if the Scotland yard ever become less pig-headed and stubborn? Watson and I are currently in the middle of a case, we are so close to pinning the killer but inspector Lestrade won't let us on the crime scene. We've spoken to two witnesses who's testimonies point to one man I'm sure committed the crime, now we just need to get to the scene and find evidence to prove it, but Lestrade won't let us touch it." Sherlock gets up from his chair and grabs his violin and sits back down. He began playing an eerie tune as we all sat waiting. We're we supposed to continue talking over it, or devote all our attention to his playing? I will never know.

Stark interrupted and asked, "where did you learn to play the violin?"

Not missing a beat he talks over the strings "I taught myself."

"Do you play with others, in an orchestra ever?"

I add, "You're very talented."

"I could never get along with those conductor types, they always say I'm not a team player and that I am too cold."

"Rogers, that's it! The conductor changed temperature when I picked it up with my cold hands this morning. It must have changed the flow of energy. We have to reconfigure the conductor and make sure its temperature is at equilibrium with the Tesseract! I have an idea that should get us home."

"Well, don't let us keep you. This has been a truly fascinating visit. We have a case to get back to" said Sherlock.

"If you get stuck in London again pay us another visit. We would love the company, and maybe next time you could help us crack a case. Your super abilities could certainly come in handy around here. London sometimes feels like a pool of villains in our line of work," said Watson.

"It was an honor, truly. I have the utmost respect for the both of you and hope this is not our last meeting," I added.

Mrs. Hudson appears at the doorway and jumps in the conversation as if she had been listening all along. "How are you planning to get back across town? The canals aren't safe at this time of evening. Can I offer a lift? I could arrange a carriage to bring you back? I'm sure if its not raining now, it will be soon. You just sit tight, I'll have a carriage for you in a few minutes."

Watson said, "thank you Mrs. Hudson," handing her some coins for the carriage.

Not wanting to protest we sat patiently. The next few minutes before we climbed in the carriage were filled with awkward goodbyes and handshakes. I could tell Stark was impatient, so I was relieved when we finally sat down and instructed the coachman, "to Sir Aarons Wharf."

As we sat in the carriage, the smell and sounds of rain wafting into the window, our bodies gently bouncing with every cobblestone it occurred to me that Stark was being more quiet than his usual self. I waited a while for him to break the silence but when no words came after many minutes I became more intrigued. I chose my words carefully.

"What are you thinking about Stark?"

His mind seemed far away. I prodded again. "Is there anything bothering you?"

He finally turned and answered. "I am struck by Holmes elegance. Yes, elegance. My expectations are often not wrong, but tonight, the two men who walked into that room were not the Holmes and Watson I've always imagined. Those men respected each other deeply. Their friendship and closeness was almost palatable. It had me thinking about the control and negativity I bring to the table on occasion at Avengers meetings. I do bring the most intelligence to the table, but that doesn't mean I need to dominate the discourse. Look at Watson and Holmes, I always thought Holmes carried that team, yet after Holmes story about his brother I can't imagine what he would be without Watson. I suppose there's something to learn here. I could be more grateful towards you and the rest of our team." He saw me begin to smile and added, "nothing gushy, but we're a good team and I value all of our strengths. What's that cheesy expression you always say? There is no I in team?"

"You know Stark, that may be the kindest thing you've ever said to me. Don't worry I won't tell the other guys," I said mostly joking. More seriously I continue, "I imagine it took guts to say those things, it shows you're a true leader. And no, just because I called you a leader doesn't mean I'll stop fighting you on all the decisions on missions now," I say smiling.

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret having said that."

"To be honest I'm surprised you don't already regret it. Tony Stark showing compassion for those he perceives to be less intelligent? Is this a 20th century Stark, or the new Stark because I could get used to this," I said smiling and egging him on.

"Oh shut up, remember I'm the one who knows how to fix the Tesseract to get us home, so don't make me consider leaving you behind," he said kidding.

Finally we arrived back at the Wharf. We stopped by the pub and dropped off our coats and hats and sure enough, no one seemed to have moved in the six hours we were gone. We slipped back in the shipping facility and located the Tesseract. Stark instructed me to hold the screw out of its socket as I had before, earlier in the day, and watched as he warmed up his hands. He began shaking them about squeezing them, looking like a fool if you ask me.

"You know back in the military we used to stick our hands behind our knees and crouch to warm them up. You could try it."

Looking frustrated he huffed and followed my instructions. After a few moments he approached the Tesseract.

He looked at me and said, "ready?" and I nodded half smiling.

Suddenly we were flying through green nothingness one again, no senses collecting any information whatsoever, only the sound of the voice in my head wondering what was real. With a convulsion throughout my body like the kickback on a rifle I felt our arrival. Sights and sounds came back to me. We were standing back in Starks office and Jarvis was asking us "where on earth have you too been? Fury called an emergency Avengers meeting 3 hours 12 minutes and 16 seconds ago. Loki of Asguard has returned to earth and is threatening destruction of earth unless the Tesseract is returned to him."

"Well Rogers, looks like we have a job to do. Want a lift?"

Not knowing what he meant by a lift I followed him up the stairs carrying the Tesseract. After suiting up he walked out to his balcony, said, "hold on" and jumped. Hand in hand we free fell, not dissimilar to the feeling of the green space between time.

For the first time I felt truly unstoppable, not as an individual but as an Avenger. Whatever Loki threw our way I knew with certainty we could handle.


End file.
